


Thank God for Embezzlement

by jaanxx



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: AU, F/M, dethklok references, embezzlement, im really bad at writing their accents, lawyer and client, nsfw talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaanxx/pseuds/jaanxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles knows it's wrong to have feelings for a client, but what if they're reciprocated?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank God for Embezzlement

**Author's Note:**

> This lil ditty was for a friend for Christmas (which was a week late because I'm a scumbag)  
> But it's not nearly as bad as I thought it was. Some plot holes because of the rushing, yes- I am aware.

“Pickles to the main office, Pickles to the main office.”  
Came a nasally voice over the loudspeaker, rousing Pickles from his dream like state. What did I do now? Pickles stood up very slowly, and all eyes turned to him as he did the head-hanged walk of shame to the CEO’s office. Just as he reached for the doorknob, his mortal enemy, Marge the Secretary, opened the door first. He looked up to give her the usual deth glare, but was surprised to see her smirking, like she knew something he didn’t. Shit. He turned up his chin and held himself high as his little 5’4’’ stature would allow, and breezed past her with an air of confidence he definitely was not feeling in his heart. After closing the door to Marge’s small office, he cleared his throat and managed to stutter,  
“Y-ya cahlled?”   
“Pickles… someone has made a very serious accusation against you. We hate to even consider it a possibility that one of our highest ranking realtors could commit this sort of crime… but…” The CEO began nervously.  
“Money has been disappearing and we don’t know why.”  
“Waht… waht are you accusing me of?”  
The CEO pursed his lips but did not say anything.  
“Embezzlement.”  
“Waht? Who even ahre ya?”  
“Pickles, this is Charles. We’ve taken the liberty of using the company lawyer to defend you in court. You will have to meet with him several times a week until the court date in a few months. We’ve paid your bail, but you won’t be able to come into work at all until your acquittal. That is… all.”  
Pickles’ head was spinning. It was all happening too fast and he didn’t know what to say. The next thing he knew Charles was half-dragging him out of the office and into his car.   
“Waht are ye doing?”  
“We have ah… lot of work to do…?” His voice trailed off at the end like a question.  
“Pickles. Pickles the Drummer.”   
Charles raised an eyebrow, but knew better than to question a client this soon after meeting.  
“Charles Offdensen… pleased to make your acquaintance.”  
The men shook hands and then Charles opened the passenger door to his car, making a gesture for Pickles to get in.  
“How gentlemanly!” Pickles winked, but then continued, “I drove here today.”  
Charles waited silently for Pickles to get in the car. With a sigh, he finally did, and Charles slammed the door. He got in and started the car.  
“You’re pretty stubborn ain’t ya Charlie? Mind if I call ya Charlie?”  
Charles ignored the question, save for a tiny hint of a smile.   
“You’ve got to be pretty well off yourself, don’t you?”  
“I wouldn’ really say thaht. Say, where are we goin’ anyhow?”  
“I plead the fifth.”  
“Ay, shouldn’ it be me saying that?”  
They both chuckled at that. Pickles really liked Charles’ laugh, and resolved to see more of it. Soon, they were pulling into a nearly deserted coffee house.  
“I like the way you think, Charlie.”  
Charles gave that same sincere (however tight-lipped) smile. However, as soon as they ordered their coffee and sat down, Charles was all business once again, though the questions he asked may not have seemed.  
“Where are you from?” He asked.   
Pickles started to answer, but Charles cut him off with more questions.  
“Have you ever been in jail? Do you have any kids?”  
“Um… no to all three. No wait, naht the first one. I’m from Wisconsin.”  
“West… subconscious mental association with the wild west… no… that won’t help us…” He was mumbling, mostly to himself.  
“Wazzat? Wild weest?”  
“Nothing. Just going over the case.”  
“Reeally? Or were you wondering how well I can pull off cowboy boots?”  
Charles chuckled, but Pickles stayed serious.   
“Very well to answer your question.”  
Charles blushed. “Th-that’s not why. I swear.”  
Pickles raised an eyebrow. “I believe you.”  
Charles cleared his throat. “Ahem. Anyway, next is the most important question. You may not want to answer it, but as your lawyer, I want what is best for you-”  
“Only as my lawyer?” Pickles winked.  
Charles continued as if he had said nothing, with a faint hint of a smile. “It is essential that you adhere to me. I am the best in the business and have many different methods for winning all kinds of cases. But I have to know this. Pickles, did you, or did you not, commit the crime of embezzling, as you have been accused.” He phrased it as a statement, not a question. The gentle amusement from Pickles face vanished immediately, and Charles, for the first time in his career, was afraid (either way) for the answer. Pickles took a deep breath, and thought for what seemed like an eternity. “Might I remind you that if that you do not want to be imprisoned, it is essential that you tell me the truth. I assure you that I will say absolutely nothing to anyone, no matter what, as it is against my code and also against the law. Despite this, I of course understand your hesitance. Please do take your time.” Pickles sighed and looked up into Charles eyes.  
“I trust you, Charlie.” Charles’ eyes widened.  
“Th- that’s good, Pickles. Really good.”  
“So I’m going to put my life in your hands. And confess. I did it.”  
Charles nodded. “That changes nothing between us. I completely understand. A virtually victimless crime. I follow the laws, of course. Thank you… thank you for telling me. I will plan your case accordingly.” Pickles was silent for a few moments; still staring into Charles’ eyes, which made Charles a little nervous. In a very quiet voice, Pickles said matter-of-factly,   
“You don’t thank all of your clients, do you?” Charles looked down.   
“What would make you think that?”  
Pickles looked away too, finally sobering to the heaviness of the situation. “Nothing in particular.”  
They looked at each other for a while longer until Charles stood, pushing away from the table. “I’ll look over your notes and call you when I’m ready for you.” He said, flustered. He was out the door in three long strides. “You don’t have my-” Pickles sighed. Charles was already gone. “Phone number.” He muttered, under his breath. “Also? You were my ride.”  
***  
Charles drove home, consistently 15 miles over the speed limit. He’d never driven over the speed limit a day in his life. Pickles sparked… weird feelings in him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he resolved not to think about it. Just another long, stressful day at work which could easily be solved by a little ‘Charles’ time. He poured himself a glass of brandy, slipped into his (brand new!) blue silk pajamas, lit three candles, before sinking into his recliner and settling on the neighbors having sex as his white noise for the evening. The self-assigned label of ‘gay’ fit Charles like a glove. Lately though, with work, he had not had time for boyfriends. This was the first time someone had flirted with him in months. Outside of the clubs, no one knew he was gay. He didn’t take measures to hide it, but no one cared enough to look into him. He was Charles, the impeccable lawyer, and nothing else. He was pretty sure no one, not even his own mother, had ever called him ‘Charlie’ before, either. No client had ever treated him like Pickles had… like a human. He was barely intimidated, for Gods sakes! For Gods sakes indeed. He had barely met the man for 3 hours and suddenly he was filling his thoughts for an entire evening. He didn’t even know the man’s last name. And while calling him Pickles seemed absurd, what else was there to call him? The man of your dreams! Oof, that was the brandy talking. It is a good goddamn thing I do not have that man’s phone number memorized. Now, Charles had been drinking for a long time, and he was no lightweight by any stretch of the imagination. However, guilt was always a crucial part of the evening about an hour in. “I need to work on that ca-ase!!” The drunkenness had always brought out the stereotypical gay man in him, which was fine, mostly, only ever really a problem at family parties. He looked over the minimal details of the case slowly. He stood and gallivanted around the room as he always did, drunk or sober, when he imitated the prosecutor. “What gives one man the right to the hard earned money of millions without lifting a finger?” Charles pouted. “True… true… but…” Charles mumbled, looking up suddenly with wide eyes, almost feeling the heat from the light bulb he was sure was above his head. His ass. He scrawled on the paper, as it was a magnificent discovery and defense to anything he could possibly say. He eventually abandoned the guilt and the pacing, settling back in his recliner once again. He fell asleep there, and woke up there as well. The morning was not entirely pleasant, for usually when he reviewed his guilt inspired case notes, they might say something somewhat useful, something to work with, something sober Charles might not have thought of. This, however, was not the case. Not the case indeed! All of his writing was in barely distinguishable, the gist of it seeming to be mostly that ass, your honor or the defendant is guilty… of sending me mixed signals. That aside, it was all in Sanskrit, so he could still look over the notes with some coworkers (not Aatmaja). Charles, in an after-drinking haze, kind of wondered how much of Pickles flirting he had dreamed up. Probably all of it. He tried to remember Pickles’ hands, specifically his ring finger. His voice of logic had, at this point, replaced the booze once again. Not everyone is straight, either, Charles.   
Pickles, after a rather interesting hitch hike back to the office, and a slow, shaky drive, was home. He was more on edge after a day with a stuffy businessman than he had been in years. He hadn’t felt like this since those two times he did that coke! Or maybe it was three times… Now that Pickles thought about it, he thought he actually might have some coke in the very back of his closet. Anything to get my mind off that old man. That straight-edge old man. An annoying voice at the back of Pickles’ head had something to add. Who are you calling old? You’re probably a good 5 years older than him, easy! “Shettup.” Pickles said aloud, to no one. After shuffling around in his tiny closet, he found a plastic bag inside an empty container of mints, with just enough blow for one more time. He pulled out a 10$ bill that the… lovely lady who had driven him home had refused to take, and rolled it as tight as he could. Usually, when he did drugs at parties just for fun, he used hundred’s just to let people know he could. However, now was not the time for showing off, he just wanted the drugs in his veins as fast as that measly ten would allow. While his wallet was already out, he used his credit card to arrange the dust into a lines of sorts, and wasted no time getting to work. Almost as soon as the dust on the table was gone, Pickles collapsed into a fit of hysterical laughter. “You think yer doin’ coke…. But- ha!- yer not… yer doin’ angel dust!” Pickles goal was to get Charles off his mind by experiencing the closest he had ever felt to that excited, but with his glam phase in the 80’s (in which he was very glad the internet barely existed,) and the tolerance he had built up to depressants, he fell asleep almost straight away. He dreamt of Charles, because- of course he would. After 40 odd years of bottling up your feelings- why not start dealing with them… now?  
***  
“Alright, Pickles, it looks like we’re just about done here. You’re free to go.”  
“Thanks, Charlie. So… I won’t get ta see ye anymore?’’ Pickles tried to hide the disappointment in his voice. He didn’t do a very good job. Charles ignored it.  
“That’s right, Pickles. It was no big surprise you got off. There was a poll, and 80% of the jury was already leaning towards finding you not guilty. Those are high numbers, Pickles. You barely needed me anyway.” Pickles looked pained at that last statement. He had to think quickly.   
“You wanna come out with me? Fer drinks? Jest the two of us.” Pickles suggested.  
“Like a date?” Charles tried to stop his face from turning pink.  
“Yeeuh. Kinda.” Pickles looked down at his shoes.  
“Pickles, listen, I would love to, but that doesn’t look good for my reputation. Dating a client- even former- would be unprofessional.” Charles glanced at Pickles for a moment and totally misread his expression. “I- I mean… not dating. Like dating- like on a date- like friends. Like… save the date! Not like save the date… that’s a wedding thing… like… ‘Oh you wanna go out for pizza? Yeah it’s a date!’ That’s what I meant… by… that. Ahem.”  
“No- yeeuh, I got it.”  
They looked at each other for a moment longer, and just as Charles cleared his throat again and turned to leave, Pickles said, “Wait! I mean, yeah, no, wait. I didn’t mean like a date. I meant like a congratulations. Like congratulatory drinks, like ‘Hey, you won another case!’”  
Charles raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t thought of that. “Or like, ‘Hey, you’re not going to jail!’”  
Pickles chuckled and looked Charles in the face, shifting from one foot to the other and rubbing his arm. “Like that, but I’m buying.”  
As they walked to Charles’ car, Pickles turned to him. “You better not leave me stranded again, Charlie.”  
Charles face reddened immensely. “Drive you home this time. Promise.”   
“Thaht’s what ye said last time.”  
Charles’ blush deepened no matter how he tried to stop it. “Sorry.” He muttered.  
Charles, I’m really glad to be going out with you.” Pickles said softly.  
Charles hardened visage softened visibly and melted into a dream-like smile. “Me too.” They stared at each other for just a moment too long, but eventually snapped out of it. Charles cleared his throat yet again and Pickles turned to face forward in his seat. “Where to?”   
“Right, right. There’s this bar…”  
***  
After a long night of drinking and increasingly less painfully polite conversation, Charles was about ready to call it a night. “I think… I think I’m gonna take off, Pickles.”  
“Whaht? Where ya goin’ it’s naht even midnight!”  
“Home! I’ve got to feed the dog, and get up early to go over files in the morning…”  
“Woah woah woah, you promised you wouldn’t leave me alone again!”   
“I’ll call you a cab. You’re probably not okay to drive.”  
“Are you?” Pickles inquired seriously.  
Charles giggled girlishly. “Probably not!” He puffed between fits of laughter.   
“We can share a cab.” Charles said, suddenly serious again, ever the penny-pincher.  
“But yer place is closer! I’ll be lonely on the ride home.” Pickles was laughing. Charles was not.  
“Don’t go home, then.”  
“What?”  
“Crash at my place.” Charles face brightened. “We’ll take care of each other. End the case on a high note. I don’t know if either of us would make it through the night- drunk as we are.”  
“What? Ahm naht even drunk… at all.”   
“Please! That accent has been getting stronger the drunker you get. I’m afraid you’ll turn into Toby Keith if I don’t cut you off soon!”  
“Shettep. Let’s get outta here, then.”   
Charles took out his phone to call a cab and Pickles sat back, taking a good look at him. His tie was askew, and so were his glasses, and his usual gelled hair was rumpled; giving him an altogether disheveled appearance. His head was spinning with all kinds of wild thoughts, like, It’s the last time I’m going to see him, he invited me to his place, I haven’t seen him hit on a girl all night, he called this a date… if anything were to happen, it’d be tonight. However, somewhere in Pickles mind, a very unwelcome soft side of Pickles voiced its concern. Is that really what you want from this man? A one night stand? He means more to you than that, and we both know it. Don’t blow this. Pickles shook his head to clear his thoughts, and giggled. “I won’t blow this, but I might blow him.”  
“What?” Charles turned to face him.  
“What? I didn’t say anything.”  
Charles smirked, and slung an arm lazily around Pickles.  
“Let’s get out of here.”  
***  
Somehow, drunk Charles managed to get a slightly less drunk Pickles back to his house in one piece.   
“Hey… I’ll show you to the guest room. Sorry ‘bout the mess, I didn’t re- realize I’d be havin’ a guest tonight.”  
“Heyyyy it’s naht a prablem. My house is so much worse. You’ll be sick when you see it.”  
Charles wasn’t sure what he meant by that. He assumed this would be the last time he would see Pickles, now that there was no legal obligation for it anymore. In fact, he wasn’t sure he wanted too. It scared him how much he enjoyed this man’s company, especially considering how different they were.  
“Uh… yeah. Anyways… this is your room… for tonight I mean. Th- there’s towels hanging on the uh. The shower door so you can shower tomorrow. I was just grocery shopping so we can sit down for breakfast before you leave tomorrow- I mean that’s not why I was shopping- I didn’t plan for you to be here- uh… yeah. Bed, and stuff. Yeah.”  
Charles cleared his throat and turned to leave Pickles to it, but before he could exit the room, Pickles said something too quietly for him to hear.   
“What was that?”  
“I said- aren’t ya gonna tuck me in or nothin’?”  
Pickles was sure it was the alcohol talking in him and in Charles when he replied-  
“What? No, of course.”  
Pickles laid down and Charles pulled the covers up to his chin and turned off the light. Before he could stop himself, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Pickles’ forehead and murmured, “Sleep well, love.”  
Charles, realizing what he had said, stood up quickly and exited the room before Pickles could even process what had happened. He shook his head and decided it was time to call it a night, going back to his own room to wash up.   
It didn’t take him very long to finish, washing his face in record time. He yawned and shuffled out of the bathroom-  
Only to see Pickles lying “paint me like one of your French girls” style on his bed.  
“Pickles-?”  
Charles knew he was gaping but he couldn’t seem to stop.  
Pickles wished he knew the end of that sentence. Pickles, what are you doing? Pickles, didn’t I just tuck you in? Pickles, what took you so long?  
Even so, he had come this far and wasn’t about to be put off by a really good poker face and an open mouth stare. His cards were already on the table.   
Charles still hadn’t moved, and Pickles was tired of waiting. He hadn’t been waiting that long, but he was impatient. Especially when he was drunk.  
He crossed the room in two strides and took Charles in his arms not unlike the way a groom would his wife on their wedding day, kissing him softer and slower than he had even thought he was capable of.   
And then- no he wasn’t crazy! Charles was kissing him back. But maybe he was. If Charles was kissing him back then why-  
“Pickles! Wha’s going on here?”  
“Whaddaya think, chief? You’ve never had a good old fashioned seducin’ before?”  
Charles narrowed his eyes, and now Pickles was slightly concerned. Had he imagined Charles kissing back? Had he so badly misread the gay vibe he had gotten off of Charles on that first day?  
“I thought… I thought you were just messin’ with me… all that time…”  
“Nah, baby, I wouldn’t do that to you!”  
Charles was very conflicted at that moment, whether to be delighted at his former clients interest in him, or to show his utter distaste for being called baby. He dismissed it as a mistake of the drunken brain, and decided to throw his arms around Pickles roughly.   
Pickles was not prepared for this and stumbled backwards onto the bed, giddy as all hell.  
Charles took the initiative this time and kissed Pickles passionately, less chaste this time, moving his hand lower than Pickles had expected. He abruptly pulled away from Charles.  
“We’re drunk. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time and I can wait awhile longer if you’re not comfortable. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”  
“I know. I want to.”  
Pickles sighed with relief in a rush, at the same time saying, “Oh, thank god.”  
However, when Pickles leaned back to take his shirt off, Charles thought to himself that it was taking a very long time.   
“Need some h-” He turned to find Pickles with his shirt half off, kind of stuck on his head, lying down. Charles broke into a loving half-smile, somehow feeling like seeing Pickles like this was more intimate than any other drunken mistake they could have made tonight.  
He put Pickles shirt back on carefully, as not to wake him, and threw a blanket over him, grabbing another one for himself. Charles was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.  
***  
When Pickles woke up next to Charles in bed the next morning, he was in a panic. He remembered bits and pieces of what had happened the night before, and was sure more would come back to him as the day went on, but he didn’t want Charles to wake up and regret… whatever it was they had done. They both still had their clothes on, so that was probably a good sign. Pickles knew that any normal person who had had anywhere near as much to drink as Charles had wouldn’t remember a thing from the night before, so if he woke up next to Pickles he could think any number of things, get freaked out, and demand he never see him again. Pickles hated to be “that” guy, to leave when he had been offered towels and breakfast, but his “flight” instinct kicked in first and he couldn’t bear to stay a minute longer. He put the blanket Charles had taken out for him away, put on his coat, and left; making as little noise as possible, without leaving even a note. Ugh. He felt so weak.  
***  
Charles woke up a few hours later, glad he was done with the awful headaches that would normally follow a night of drinking like that. He wasn’t really sure exactly what had happened the night before, but he was sure Pickles could fill in at least a few of the blanks for him over breakfast. He got up and yawned, walking into the living room and, not seeing Pickles, thought he probably wasn’t up yet. He knocked on the guest room door, starting to get worried when no one answered. He opened the door slowly, but no one was there. If it weren’t for the unmade bed, he might have thought he had dreamt all of last night (that he remembered) up. He searched for a note and found nothing, and felt very uneasy.   
Had he misjudged Pickles terribly? What exactly happened that he couldn’t remember, and why had it sent Pickles running?  
***  
Charles felt a little creepy doing it, but he had looked up Pickles’ address. And he was in a cab now, on his way there. With flowers.   
He tried to defend his actions in his head in case it freaked Pickles out. You’ve been avoiding my calls since that night and I have a right to at least know what happened. Of course, that didn’t explain the flowers. He didn’t want to think about what had compelled him to buy those, ridiculously overpriced multi-coloured roses. It put a lot more at stake, and he was a lot more nervous the more he thought about it. Soon enough, he couldn’t take any more time to think. He was there. Now or never. He took a deep breath, paid the cabby, and stepped into the street in front of Pickles’ house. Knocking on the door, he bit his lip and waited anxiously.  
Pickles didn’t take very long at all to answer the door, which made it impossible to run, something that Charles was highly considering.  
“Yeelloo- Charles! What are you doing here?!”  
“Uhm… hi. Here.” Pickles accepted the roses and looked suspiciously at Charles. “What do you want?”  
“Just to talk.” Pickles was making him feel guilty, which was ridiculous, probably. Unless he had done something he couldn’t remember.  
Pickles sighed. “Come in.”  
They sat down on the couch, and Charles stared at Pickles.   
“Pickles… why did you leave so quickly the other morning?”  
“I… was scared. I didn’t know what happened and I didn’t know what you would do and… I dunno.”  
“You didn’t know what… happened? What happened? Do you not remember either?”  
Pickles put a hand to his head. “I do now.”  
“Pickles…” Charles scooched closer to him on the couch and put his hand on his arm, “Please, what happened?”  
Pickles sighed again and averted his eyes, moving away from Charles once again.  
“Ok, fine. We were both really drunk, and I kissed you. I slept in your bed with you, and nothing else happened, I swear.”  
“That’s all? Why were you scared?”  
“Because I knew…” He trailed off.  
“Knew what, Pickles?”  
“I knew… that it was just the alcohol that made you kiss me back and if you woke up to see me in bed with you, you would freak out and kick me out and we would never speak again, and I don’t know if I could handle that because even if you didn’t like me back being friends with someone like you is already more than I could ever ask, but it doesn’t matter now because I’m an idiot and you’re all freaked out and you’re going to leave but I couldn’t help it okay I could never refuse anything you asked for.” Pickles had to catch his breath and he turned away. However, when he turned back, Charles wasn’t gone.  
“What’re ya still doin’ here?” Pickles spat disgustedly.  
“Pickles… you never asked me what I thought.”  
Pickles raised an eyebrow, and said, “What… what do you think?”  
Charles stepped forward and took both Pickles’ hands in his.  
“I admire your ability to tell the truth and I’m absolutely thrilled that you like me… too. It wasn’t just the alcohol talking. I’ve liked you since I first met you and want to spend the rest of my- I want to spend more time with you. If… you’ll have me, of course.”  
Pickles eyes widened.  
“Of course! Oh, Charlie.”  
As Charles took Pickles in his arms once again, for real, neither of them cared how they had gotten there. Maybe it really wasn’t the journey, but the destination, that mattered.


End file.
